


getaway car

by Writeous



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen, Marichat, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 08:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writeous/pseuds/Writeous
Summary: Marinette just wants an uneventful ride home after the end of a particularly terrible day. Chat Noir, Paris' most infamous vigilante, has other ideas.





	getaway car

It’s been a long day, and Marinette wants nothing more than to go home. She’s always had chronic bad luck, but today it seemed to have hit her especially hard. From her horrible physics final results, to the terrible fact her favorite boutiques and cafes had been closed due to weather, to being soaked by a wave of water on the sidewalk due to a nearby car hitting a muddy puddle too quickly, to staggering over a mile in the pouring rain with a broken umbrella because the parking lot by the shopping center had been blocked off for renovations.

_ At least _ , she thinks, as she hurriedly slides into her car seat and dumps her dripping grocery bags onto the passenger seat, immediately turning the heating up to the highest setting,  _ it’s over. I’m done. All errands hath been completed. The only thing between me, a cup of hot chocolate, and my cat is one tiny-teensy-weensy-maybe-very-long-because-of-weather-conditions drive _ . 

Thankfully, the roads seemed to be clear. Most people had the good, common sense to not be out so late at night during the biggest storm of the year. Unfortunately, Marinette was not one of those people.

Her goal is so close she can taste it, but that doesn’t mean she can take some time to catch her breath beforehand. She rests her head on the steering wheel with a drawn out sigh, pointedly ignoring the water dripping from her rain jacket onto the car’s dashboard. That’s a problem for future-Marinette: she’s dealt with too many herself today. 

Now, here’s the deal: in general, Marinette’s a cautious person. She’s a generally safe driver. Sure, some of the stuff she’s done is, technically, illegal, but her general philosophy is  _ if I don’t get caught and no one gets hurt, it’s basically common sense _ .

But something she always does, without fail, is immediately lock the car doors the moment she’s settled inside. It’s basic safety that’s been ingrained in her since she first sat behind the wheel.

It’s not her fault that she’s absolutely exhausted, which means forgetful, which means that she’s arguably not completely responsible for what happens next.

Her left rear passenger door - the one facing the street - flies open. Marinette jolts up in panic but barely has the chance to turn around when a panicked masculine voice is yelling, “DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE  _ DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE _ ” at her, over and over and over again with increasing volume.

Instinctively, Marinette floors it. She hears the thud of her car door slam shut as she barrels down the street. She starts breathing hard and fast - just on the edge of hyperventilation, which she cannot afford to be doing  _ now _ \- as the man finally falls silent behind her. It’s beginning to click in her head: there’s a strange man in her car, who’s obviously a criminal because only criminals get chased down by people and end up jumping into the cars of strangers in order to make a quick escape.

Behind her, the voice says, raspy but much softer now, “I think you lost them.”

Marinette, still flying down the road, takes a moment to flick her eyes to the rearview mirror. Once she recognizes her unwelcome passenger, she almost slams the brakes out of sheer, terrified instinct.

The man is still turned away from her, but she can see the blonde hair just fine, still wet from the billowing storm. His outfit is all black, sleek kevlar that’s built for agility rather than strength. Atop his head are two fake cat ears, thick leather with metal studs. If he were to turn around, she knows that she would see the distinctive black mask and slitted green contacts.

“You’re Chat Noir,” she whispers. He swivels in his seat to look at her, and she repeats it hysterically. “You’re Chat Noir! Chat - Chat Noir! You’re Chat Noir!”

“That’s me,” he says, a sly grin on his face a stark contrast to his menacing outfit. The material has a faint honeycomb pattern to it. She’s never seen it so up close before - the news media has never gotten near enough to him to take a quality picture.

“And you’re in my car! Oh,” she takes a turn too quickly and he rockets to the other side of the back seat with the momentum, “oh god, those people who you were running from. Are they - criminals? After me?”

Chat Noir fumbles for a seat belt as Marinette makes another harsh turn. “No,” he says, “they shouldn’t - I don’t think they were close enough to get a good look.”

“Who were they, then?” Marinette should not be asking these questions. But it’s her car that’s suddenly become a getaway vehicle for Paris’ most infamous vigilante, so she feels like she deserves a few answers. She feels a bit calmer than before, most likely from the adrenaline. She’s not looking forward to the inevitable, delayed panic attack she’ll have once she’s back home.

A suspicious pause, long enough that Marinette starts to worry that she’s angered him. She glances at the rear-view mirror to see him looking through back window again, every line of his body tense with anticipation. Eventually, he replies, “Hawkmoth.”

“ _ Hawkmoth _ ?”

“An akuma or two of his, actually.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, and then freezes as she registers her own question. She should be calling the police right now, not inquired  _ Chat Noir _ about his health.

“-‘m fine, princess,” he says, and she frowns at the sudden nickname. “Just a few scratches here and there. It takes a lot to land a hit on this cat, don’t you worry.”

_ Is he - is this flirting? Here? Now? _

“As long as you don’t dirty up my upholstery, we’re good,  _ kitty _ .” What the hell was  _ she doing _ .

That shocks a laugh out of him, short and abrupt, as if he was surprised by it. Surprised by her.  _ Bad call, Marinette, now the vigilante likes you _ . “You can drop me off at this corner -  _ no _ , the next one, slow down.”

She pulls up to the curb, breaking hard enough that they both lurch forward. “Is it safe?” she asks.

He tilts his head to the side, and one of the ears atop his head twitch.  _ He’s listening with them _ , she realizes, a bit awestruck. They weren’t just cosmetic. She’d assumed that they were an unnecessary addition added for the cat aesthetic, just like everyone else in the world did. Now, she knows that they are, indeed, a necessary one, most likely still added for that damned cat aesthetic.

“They’re gone,” he reassures her. “For now, anyway.” As if he hadn’t just left her with that terrifying qualifier, he undid his seat belt and held one clawed glove against the door handle. He paused before opening the door. “What’s your name, princess?”

Fear shoots up her spine. She’d forgotten, for a moment, that she was supposed to be afraid of this incredibly dangerous man in her car. “Why?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Just wanted to know who to thank for saving me, is all. What,” he raises an eyebrow playfully, his entire mask moving with the motion, “are you afraid that this alley cat is gonna come asking for another getaway soon?”

_ Yes _ . “I don’t know, you do look pretty mangy to me.”

He breaks into a grin, the expression almost wild on his face. “Suit yourself then, princess.” He steps out of the car and into the battering rain. She refuses to crank down her window even as he bows dramatically at her, unbothered by the storm around him. “Until we meet again.”

Marinette locks the car doors and watches as Chat Noir all but disappears into the dark street. Her hands still shook on the wheel, and she takes a few deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart. She should report this whole interaction, she knows, because the police says that he’s armed and dangerous. If anything, she should go to the news and get Alya to run a story on it. While she’s at it, she should call Adrien - he’s the biggest Chat Noir sympathizer she knows. He’d definitely get a kick out of it, after he stopped doing the fretful worrying routine that she is all but certain he picked up from her.

She doesn’t do any of those things. She drives home and grabs her groceries and runs to her apartment in the rain, with no umbrella to stop her from getting soaked. She triple locks her door and makes herself hot chocolate and pets her cat, and when she sees news of Hawkmoth’s most recently defeated akumas, she doesn’t call in to give a statement.

**Author's Note:**

> This actually would have been something like the first chapter for a very complicated AU I planned out a few years ago, featuring Gabriel as a secret mob boss whose attempting to train Adrien to be his successor, completely unaware that Adrien is working behind the scenes as his alter ego Chat Noir in order to bring his father down. Marinette is roped into his schemes after she begins interning at Agreste Fashions and eventually becomes Ladybug to try and take down Hawkmoth. 
> 
> It would have been great fun, and this is all of that AU that will ever see the light of day.


End file.
